Broken Heart
by BlueHeart01
Summary: There is trouble ahead for the Avengers. Their oldest member shows tell-tale signs of something serious. Something he is telling no one.
1. In Plain Sight

**Chapter One: In Plain Sight**

Tony Stark stood with a walking cane, looking into his own haggard reflection in the mirror over a gleaming set of bathroom faucets. It was late evening in October, and a party was going on full-swing on the other side of the restroom doors.

Though he was very much part of it, he felt curiously isolated, as if he was a stranger just come off the street. This feeling was new, foreign and alien. He could be a part of anything he wanted. Money and power was no object, and such commodities could be literally thrown around if he so wished it. But lately, money and power had waned within his mind and perhaps in everyone else's, even though he was rich and well known and his statue remained firm, even under scrutiny from the press.

The party going on was like a party of any other day.

But tonight it was Steve Roger's birthday.

Tony gave himself a stern glance, pleased with his formal attire.

He was all in ceremonious black, a colour he seldom chose to wear. Black was for funerals, for grief. For the damned. Black was ideally too solemn for him anyway; too stern, especially for his public outings otherwise it might conceive the wrong message. The media was sensitive like that. And he had never gone anywhere with a cane before either. The cane added to his weight of years somehow, as if implying that he could no longer endure the use of his own legs.

But damn, it did make him look like an old noble in a fairytale book. If he was so inclined as to be narcissistic he would have rated himself as 'elegantly handsome.'

The cane was useful, and added to his natural flair. No one else had commented on it except Pepper Potts, who marvelled at its natural elegance.

Natasha Romanov had given it a casual glance but said nothing. She often didn't need to speak. Her eyes told yarns.

Yet, despite the cane, the black he wore did one good deed despite its awful sternness: it helped to hide his sudden, ungodly weight loss. Weight loss that he had been somewhat aware of the past few months in passing acquaintances. Not that it bothered him much. With all his tinkering and building, and infrequent naps, he had been finding less time to tone up his muscles. That was okay though. He just had to fool them for one night and that would be it for another unknowable amount of time. To show any weakness was unfathomable.

There was also that slim chance of being 'called in' too, to be an Avenger. But that hadn't happened since he had started losing weight. Not every world problem was a big one, and Steve Rogers, along with his infallible crew, usually resolved matters in hours, if not less. Tony was more than confident that if the problem at hand was pretty serious, they'd call him in immediately, but that simply hadn't happened. Yet.

A large part of him did feel resolutely disappointed. A smaller part was relieved. After all, if Bruce's Hulk couldn't thwart the 'bad guy,' who the hell could? Fury hardly seemed concerned with the team, and his lack of feedback was often taken as good news.

Besides, Tony found himself doubting his own ability to provide for the suit. Yes its power was provided for, the internal wires monitored and manipulated by Jarvis if needed. But really, it had been almost six months since last he stepped into it, and six months since he had last been in a mission. The suit had started to scare him somehow, for no cause or reason. He loved to fly in it, and do things no ordinary man could ever do. In it, he was likened to a god, a mortal one, but a god nonetheless. He was free in it; breaking out of his constraints like a bird must feel after leaving its nest.

Now the suit was his to tinker with, his to adjust, to calibrate, to mingle with and mess with. It was his daily routine. But not once had he flown in it for half a year.

Maybe it was because of his last mission, a folly in his past he hated to discuss, much less reflect on.

Tony Stark admired himself a little longer in the mirror, enjoying the peaceful solitude of his own privacy before confronting the door of his exit. The music was loud out there, the lyrics unmistakable, even in the porcelain restroom.

It had been months since he had last seen Steve, and there was a preliminary sense that the Captain was out there, somewhere, mingling with his friends after coming in from the cold in his old-fashioned style coat and hat.

It was no wonder then, when Tony opened the door, that he saw him from across the foyer, barely looking a day past twenty five. If Tony had not learned beforehand, he would not have believed them if they said Steve had just turned ninety six today. Yet the numbers were stencilled in bright red letters on the cake and on the silvery banner stretching from the parlour ceiling.

It brought some envy to Tony's table. How could it not? His team was made up of one half human, one half god. Thor, Bruce and Steve made up the ultimate mettle, and took the years with ease. It hardly aged them. Natasha was still young of course, and had no children to strain herself over, so even she was looking well. Then there was Clint, who also kept himself well.

Mingling through the crowd had always been easy for him. People recognised him almost always at once, and he got winks and waves across the room and handshakes when he was within reach. People met his eyes with rich cheerfulness: and as always, that fake charm. He didn't know half the people whom he spoke to, and remembered few names, and which names he did remember, he said to the wrong people. That was okay though too, for he was rich and they were a forgiving bunch who would shortly be re-forgotten.

He quickly saddled up to Natasha, who was busy drinking champagne simply because it helped pass the time, not because it pleased her. Her flaming hair, always so vibrant, even in the gloom, blazed a deep autumnal red. Her eyes, alien and cold, always sparkled with some genuine warmth whenever she saw him in the crowd. Not because he was Tony Stark, but because they were a family. A strange family yes, but a family bound together all the same, in chaos or in peace.

"Seen the birthday boy yet?" He asked of her, even though he knew Rogers was already here.

She held the champagne glass daintily, trying her hardest to appear normal. She even watched the other women to assess the way they held themselves and moved, so that she could copy them. She was as wary as a spider, and as keen as a hawk. Her sequinned dress; a mix of bruised purple and flowing red, strangely suited her to the ground, even if she wasn't the type to wear dresses. Her eyelashes had been painted up, as were her blushed cheeks. Tony often wondered if she enjoyed applying make-up at all, or if she merely found it irritating. He himself could sympathize; he was finding group gatherings a tiresome affair when once upon a time he used to revel in such activities. Now they only drained what energy he had left.

Tony grabbed an alcoholic cocktail from a passing tray just as the waiter shimmied past. He gulped from it as if he was thirsty, and dumped the empty glass on a table already littered with used glasses.

"Yes. He's dithering with Patrick Hide."

"Patrick Hide? That athletic gay fellow?"

His nuance of childish play was not lost on her. "Yes. The very same."

Patrick was one of Steve's co-workers at the Public Gym in Boston. Steve loved working out, and if he wanted some fresh air, he'd dive down to the Public Gym to break out a casual sweat. And that was where he met Patrick who was also an athletic enthusiast. They had hit it off quickly, and Steve didn't usually warm up to strangers so soon. Even so, Steve kept all personal information from the guy, never letting on that he was Captain America.

As it was, Tony could just see Steve's head bobbing and weaving through the crowd some forty paces away.

"You look... good." Nat said after some consideration, as if she had wanted to let slip something else. Tony accepted her compliment at face value. No one _really_ knew what Natasha was _really_ thinking. "I see you brought a cane. Afraid you'll fall over?"

Tony smirked at her, offering up one of his patented grins that usually won over most girls. It was just an expression he usually hid behind. "Helps push people out of the way." He concluded.

She raised one eyebrow, not convinced. She never was. He doubted she even knew what sex felt like even if she was doomed to have it twenty-four-seven.

"Banner?" He choked, if just to change the subject.

"Over by the food."

He looked over at the long, white-clothed table set at the back of the parlour that was dressed in a typical buffet style. There was the big birthday cake in the middle topped with the red, ugly numbers spelling '96.' Then there was a chocolate fountain spewing what looked more like brown mud, and an array of smaller delicate blue plates containing rare, expensive sweets such as fondants, liquors and cakes. There was not a single savoury snack in sight. On any other day this would have bothered Tony Stark. But tonight, even though he had not eaten all day, failed to have a scrap of appetite. Instead he filled his time drinking whatever the waiter passed around. Nat, not warming up to the party much either, had another glass.

"So, how have the missions been going lately?" He asked. He tried not to shout it at her. The music was loud, but she seemed attuned to much of what he had to say. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to ask.

"Not so bad." Nat replied in her usual, abrupt manner. "I postulate that Hydra has either gone bankrupt or retreated into hiding. That green company Equilibrium has also gone quiet. The last few jobs have just been sweep-up jobs. I doubt even you would find them exciting."

"And you?"

She shrugged as if the question bore no relevance. "Spying as always. Looking for trouble. Listening to the opposition. You know how it is." Nat took a slow sip from her drink. Her eyes rested on his only some of the time. She was instead taking in the crowd, and assessing each face when it came into view, reminding him of a tiger measuring the weak from the deadly. Even at the party she did not relax. Despite this, he somehow felt safe with her. It was pretty much how he felt around all the Avengers, except of course for poor old Bruce Banner. Tony really liked that man and it wasn't strictly his fault that he turned into a green monster when he threw himself to the wolves of anger. In fact provoking him was in a way, a game. Steve saw it as disrespectful. Tony saw it as 'bonding.'

In fact, truth be told, the man himself parted through the crowd, heading straight towards them. His eyes alighted on Romanoff first, and then passed to Tony. Tony smiled, showing a little of his teeth.

Bruce smiled too, though his sentiment was much more reserved.

"Glad you could both make it. Been here long?" He asked.

Natasha shrugged lightly. "Been here long enough. Just got here?"

"Yeah, the taxi was a little late, so..."

"Traffic?" Tony interjected.

"Yeah. Accident on the freeway." Bruce pointed casually at his formal attire. He himself was wearing casual shirt, pants and tie. And ties had never really suited him. He looked like an outgrown kid fresh from college. "You look good." He commented dryly. Tony tried to pick up on what he really meant, but he was clueless.

"Thanks. Too grim?"

"No, no. Surprisingly it suits you. Elegant. What's with the cane?" He seemed more curious than judgemental.

"In case I need to knock some sense into someone." Tony said with a flourishing fake smile.

Bruce appeared to look like he wanted to say something more. His mouth even opened, his eyes on the cane. Then with a glance he looked to Natasha and whatever had been on his mind vanished.

"Let's go meet the birthday boy." He said, clapping his hands together. Natasha smiled and nodded in a painfully polite way. Tony followed them through the crowd. As they were walking, Bruce asked, "So how's Pepper?"

"Busy, busy. Haven't seen her much lately in actual fact. She must have got lost behind all that paperwork."

Bruce just nodded.

Steve Rogers was near the food table, looking as resplendent as always. His arms were solid and beefy, and even his shirt looked primed to explode off his biceps if so they so much as bulged. His hair had not the slightest fibre of grey and his eyes sparkled with youthful interest. He was not a drinker, and usually refrained from the cruder beverages, but tonight he was drinking something that looked a lot like vodka, though Tony suspected it was lemonade.

With cat-like reflexes, he was quick to suss that he had company. After barely ending the conversation with Patrick, he had caught Bruce in his periphery and had turned to him with a welcoming smile. Upon seeing Tony and Natasha, his smile faltered. Tony felt suddenly abashed for no reason.

"Hello, all." He said.

"Happy birthday." Nat replied with a glossy smile that had genuine warmth to it. "Have you started drawing your pension yet?"

Steve Rogers could not help but laugh at that one, even if she had told him the same joke last year.

"Don't worry; the State is safe for another decade." He said, chuffed. "Which reminds me, it's going to be our anniversary soon. Next month, right?"

Tony almost had forgotten, and mentally cursed himself. _Another public appearance?_ But Steve was correct. Every November on the 7th, the Avengers team, and no one else, celebrated their 'coming-together.' It had been four years now. Three years of chaos, and one year of peace.

Tony had never failed to attend the event, but he suddenly didn't want to invest his time in it any longer. Before long they'd start really noticing his weight loss and sickly appearance, and it wouldn't just be odd glances his way or dropping in the occasional joking comment. They'd soon pull him up onto the stage and interrogate him. Then Fury would simply shake his head and cut him from the team. After all, the old and the sick couldn't be Avengers.

"Right." Concluded Bruce good naturally. "The good thing about those anniversary parties is that we don't have to hide who we are. It was great last year. We rented out that lodge, remember? And Clint got so drunk he thought he was back at home!" Bruce was all smiles. Rarely did he laugh, but he was very relaxed, and clearly loved their company. He seldom got on with anyone else. That was what was so good about the Avengers. So long as you were reliable to a certain degree on the field, Fury accepted who or what you were.

Steve's bright blue eyes turned to Stark's almost effortlessly. "You keeping well, Tony?"

The question was so unforeseen, so out of line, that Tony only stared up at Steve for what felt like an uncomfortably long time. "I am." Was all he could manage, even when he had ample time to come up with a reasonable excuse or some sarcastic remark.

The comment seemed to trouble Steve, for he didn't look convinced. In fact, he utterly believed he'd hear sarcasm, and when it wasn't forthcoming he was only left confused.

Finding their company suddenly irritable and feverish, Tony excused himself by pretending that he needed to get another drink, and so slipped away from them as easily as a bat slipped away in the dark. He didn't get that 'other drink.' Instead he traipsed back to the only place he felt where he could think, and be safe, and that was the restroom.

Tony hadn't yet acclimatised to his lack of energy and sudden claustrophobia, though he blamed it partly on anxiety.

He stood yet again at the sink, horrified to find that his face looked even more sunken and ghost-white than it had since last he looked upon himself. He blamed it on the cheap florescent lighting.

The door opened and someone – a guest he didn't know – strode in. Tony, his solitude broken, went back out into the feverish party, the music drumming into his ears with lights strafing from above. It was still early, nine o'clock early, and he wasn't sure he could take another hour of this.

He pretended to mingle near the front door, trying to breathe in some of that good old autumn air whenever someone opened it when claustrophobia struck again. Feeling walled-in from all sides, and hot with sweat, he decided that to be free was a lot more tempting, and besides, hardly anyone would miss him. He always chose to go where he pleased besides.

Placing a clammy palm on the handle of the door, he turned it and stepped heavily out into the cool, dark October night. The door closed neatly behind him and already he felt better, and for once, was able to breathe. He took great, big lungfulls until he was coughing it back up again.

Clutching to the railings of the stone steps despite the aid of his cane on the way down, he left the house and crossed the quiet, dark street. His car was parked up on the pavement beside an ornamental garden that belonged to some rich neighbour.

After slinging his cane onto the backseat, Tony slid into the front once he had unlocked the car, and sat there, shaking from the chill in the air even though he was still sweaty and hot.

He gave himself a moment to get himself together and then promptly hit the ignition button on the dashboard. The car's engine droned to life. The sound could not have been more pleasing.

Bone-hard knuckles rattled upon the car door outside. Tony involuntarily jumped before glancing round, confusion sprawled across his face. Steve was outside, bending over slightly to look at him through the window.

Tony cursed and hit the electric window button even as he regretted it.

The window slid down almost without sound.

"You're leaving?" Was Steve's only question. It was direct and simple, even though it was clear from his body language that he wanted to drown Tony in questions.

"You're missing your own party." Tony answered lamely, drawing up another signature smile. "Sorry, but I gotta run. Pepper just called me. She slipped in the shower and hurt her ankle. Can you believe it? Her timing is just incredible!" He had always been a veteran liar. He hadn't been so good with honesty until he met Yinsen. Now he found lying to be incredibly easy, as if he had never stopped doing it. He even surprised himself with the shit he came out with.

Steve looked at him hard, as if trying to suss out the lie. Tony was surprised he had even notice him leave, AND followed him out into the blustery cold. What could possible drive Steve to do that? Hadn't he got about ten thousand other guests to chat to?

"Yes. Incredible. When you see her, let me know if she's all right, won't you?"

Tony smiled, this time in relief. Steve had bought it, hook-line-and-sinker. "Will do. Have my share of the birthday cake, will you? And that big present covered in pink paper? It's from me. Open it from a distance."

Steve regarded him quizzically and said nothing else. Tony let the window slide all the way back up again, and then pulled out of his driving slot. He looked into the rear-view mirror once before heading down the road, and saw Steve still standing there under the glow of the street light in that ever-so-tight shirt.


	2. No More Great Adventures

**Chapter Two: No More Great Adventures**

 _You've got to tell him. Like or not, you got to tell him. He won't like it. Hell he'll sulk for about a month. Maybe two. Then he'll be good about it, once he knows we all still love the goof. But I'm worried the next mission will be too much for him._

 _I don't want to have to pick up the pieces._

This was what kept stirring in Steve Roger's head, even during the excitement and fervour of the party. He could barely concentrate on anything in fact, other than the thoughts burning through his mind like acid.

He was a man who was not afraid of many things.

He was capable and secure in his own abilities and strength, and hardly ever let anxiety rule him for any amount of time, even when it might at times play with the minds of the other members of his team. There was times when he doubted, for he was only human, but he was a man of action, much like Tony himself, and preferred to express himself through those notions instead. After all, a problem wasn't often a problem at all once confronted. But this was a problem that gnawed at him at sudden, unexpected moments until he felt fairly sure he would break the tall glass of cool beer that he held in his hand.

To quell this problem, he had to confront it.

It was the only way.

What rode it all was what happened during the very last mission they did with Tony Stark. Ironically it was nothing to do with anything Tony did. In fact he had performed perfectly; doing his utmost to shield and/or evacuate citizens while Hawkeye and Banner fought to find and diffuse the bombs loitered around the city. It was excruciating work, and it was terribly slow as Black Widow hunted down each bomb with her electronic radar and Bruce and Clint battled to work fast behind her lead. But one bomb – the very last bomb – went off. They were too late to diffuse it. Tony had zoomed straight into the explosion in a mad, red streak of screaming metal, and Steve was almost catatonic in his shock, fearing that Tony had dived straight into it by sheer accident. They had all seen him do it.

The bomb detonated regardless of course, showering the city in smoke, debris and panic. People were shouting and screaming. Bruce hulked out, and danced into a mad frenzy in the wreckage as if grief was already upon him.

Steve ran to the wreckage and started shifting slabs of building aside; sure that Tony had been in this location just as the bomb went off. It made little difference to Steve whether Tony was in the Iron Man suit or not. Sure, the suit protected him against a lot, but the suit had been beaten up already from shrugging off bits of building, and he was all too aware then that the man inside was now a much frailer man since when they first met.

Steven felt terrible, closing-in panic that day, especially when nothing else living shifted in the rubble. Black Widow was shouting at Tony through the intercom, a tightly secured communications line that was state of the art technology. And there had been no response.

Steve shifted through the heavier bits of crumbling wall and unearthed a huge sheet of concrete to discover Tony beneath the rubble. Steve froze, his left hand taut against the metal as he pushed upwards. Tony's helmet was gone: it had either fallen off somewhere or the idiot had removed it by his own hand, hence the silent reciprocation when Black Widow demanded a response.

Held in Tony's arms was a boy no younger than five years old, his face dirty and covered in snot and tears, but otherwise totally unharmed. How Tony had seen him, and got to him in time remained a mystery, even now. Tony was covered in blood, and he was wary when Steve and he looked at one another, as if the crazy billionaire expected a chastisement for his acts. Instead Steve helped pull him out, and let the rubble slide where it pleased once he and the boy were safe, and he hugged Tony that day. It was an awkward hug, and it was seen before the other Avengers as they came forwards in their drips and drabs, but the moment had been immense and provoking. Ever since then however, Steve had felt a new fear inside him: of losing his best friend.

The child, cute and dumpy, had been returned to his mother after Tony had reluctantly let him go.

But the events had set off a united decision to expel Tony from the team. It was a harsh choice, and it was in no way discrimination. Tony worked hard, and was one of the more reliable fighters despite his tendency to rebuke the rules and do whatever the hell pleased him. So the decision, when it came, was a hard one to swallow, and so, to keep Tony in the dark awhile and stall the news, they had gone to do various missions without him, intending it as a bit of a holiday for Tony. And Tony had bought it.

It was fair, he kept reminding himself. Tony was fifty one years old now, and had lately got slower in his duties. There was no real retirement age for the Avengers. Fury never really saw it as something important enough to be debateable. Clint was forty eight, and hardly attended missions now anyway. But Steve was implementing it now. Enforcing it was another thing entirely.

Official retirement was still a reality. And if he cornered Tony, and got him to agree, there was the possibility of getting him to sign a 'remissions' certificate to enforce his decision.

And tonight of all nights had just reinforced his ultimate decision after months of regret. For when Steve saw Tony after weeks of absence, his stomach dropped. The man looked frailer than ever, despite Tony's best efforts to hide it beneath his impressive midnight attire. And he was now walking with a cane. That spoke volumes, considering that Tony was a man of pride, elegance and appearance. Either Tony had implemented the cane as a sort of crude joke, or it showcased the man's very real weakness.

Tony had left early as well, which also spoke volumes when the man himself had barely spoken a word to him. Tony had always been a party-man, who doused himself in alcohol and loose women at every opportunity. Then, before the food was even presented, the man had simply left, explaining in guilty haste that Pepper had hurt her ankle in the shower. Steve was no fool, and suspected it to be a lie. Tony was usually full of them: mainly to keep his friends at arm's length.

At about half eleven, after his birthday cake had been cut and his guests were enjoying alcoholic smoothies, Steve took his phone out of his pocket and went upstairs where it was quieter to prove the authenticity of Tony's story. Alas he had not really got the hang of the modern phone. In fact even the word 'phone' was being dropped for something even more technical like ipad, or iphone. He could barely wrap his head around it. Still, Bruce had been kind enough to give him one of his older models to get used to the buttons and screen. Fortunately it wasn't one of those nuisance touch-screens. Steven surely would have snapped it in half if it had been.

He dialled Pepper's number, again something that took time, and put the phone to his ear as he listened to the dull dial tones. After about ten seconds, she picked up on the other side.

"Oh hi there, Mr. Rogers." She said pleasantly enough. She must have seen his name and number come up on her screen on her end, another thing he wasn't entirely used to. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." He said without meaning it. It's not that he didn't want to be polite; he just found the topic distracting.

"Sorry I couldn't make it. To your birthday bash I mean." She added in a bit of a rush. "I had lots of business errands to do, you know, since Mr. Stark dumped them all on me. Is he there, at the party I mean? Getting customarily drunk?"

Her spew of information ironically gave Steve all the answers he needed. And he hadn't even asked a thing. Pepper was a bit like that, waffling out gossip quite unintentionally.

"Yes, he was here. Then he left early. Said you slipped in the shower and hurt your foot."

"Oh, he did, did he?" She didn't sound that much surprised. "My knight in shining armour is becoming more imaginary by the day."

"Why would he lie about something like that?"

There was a pause on the other end, and Steve almost believed that she had hung up on him. Then he heard her sigh. "Who knows why he does anything. Maybe he just got sick of the music being playing at your party? You know what he's like sometimes, Mr. Rogers."

"Yes, I know. And please, call me Steve." It was far too personal to ask if they were currently still living together, because he already knew from the information Pepper had expelled that they weren't together, or hadn't been for some time. The break up had been news to him too, but sadly he had paid little attention to it. This little fiasco had occurred a few months back, at the time the Avengers were dealing with Matthews Peer: an alleged scientist who was creating 'literal' monsters. There was many a time when he simply wanted to ask 'why' Tony and Pepper had split, but he couldn't gather the right courage or opportunity to say it. Pepper might fall into a depressive silence and turn cold towards him, and Tony might just blow up in his face. None of the other Avengers knew either, except Natasha, who knew something, Steve was sure, but she was loathe to say anything about it. And why Natasha? Had she and Tony been talking about it without his knowledge? What else did she know?

The fact that Tony confided in her hurt, just a little. Brothers were supposed to share each other's burdens, weren't they? Or did the modern day man simply not operate like that anymore?

"Well, thank you for calling, Steve. But no, I'm not hurt." Pepper said, sounding resigned. "I'm going to bed now. Enjoy the rest of your party."

"Thank you, I will. Goodnight."

But he didn't enjoy the rest of the party.

He thought only of the promise Tony had made to him of calling him back to let him know Pepper was all right, and never delivering that promise. He thought of the building that had collapsed on Tony, and of the small boy shielded in his arms.

 _Something's wrong,_ he thought, but he couldn't fathom what.

He returned to dine with his guests, and Bruce asked if everything was okay. Steve nodded and things got back to normal. More or less.

Even so, his memory would occasionally revisit the scene when he had stood by Tony, asking him if he was 'keeping well.'

"I am." Tony had said, with cold indifference marked into his hazel eyes. Steve had seen that look before: that hard defensive look.

A new dawn blazed high over the horizon, reddening the paling sky with keen warmth. The autumn leaves on the maples blazed golden and the wind blew through them, snapping a few of those leaves from the mother branch as lecherous discards.

Tony did not turn to watch the leaves dance haphazardly across his large front room window. Neither did he so much as notice the dawn. He didn't even pay the dark no mind, or notice the change in lighting, for Jarvis had that covered, and adjusted the room's temperature ambience and lighting where necessary without instruction or comment.

Jarvis was good like that. An invisible butler that made many things comfortable for Tony. And he was discreet as well as cordial.

Sprawled before the billionaire on the long table and floor were tools, pieces of armour and coiled intestinal plugs. He was doing his usual tinkering, unscrewing this, fixing that, soldering this. He was busy adjusting and customizing his suit: his only Iron Man suit. He was making it lighter, and as a result, making the exterior flimsier, but for good reason. The weight was well-calibrated, and adjusted to his body strength so that the suspension in the suit took most of the weight for him. But lately his own endurance, shrinking with time, had made the suit feel too cumbersome, and it strained him. Jarvis had suggested small improvements to the shell overall and changing minimal components for lighter additions. This had taken him weeks to perfect, as he was constantly changing his mind as he often did with his Hot Rod car.

However, his concentration was broken when Jarvis suddenly started to natter to him like always. "Sir, may I remind you that you have not had anything to hydrate your body in the last twelve hours, and neither have you consumed any nutrition."

"Yes, yes Jarvis. In a little while."

"That's what you said eight hours ago, sir. You haven't slept either. If you continue this way, you'll end up making mistakes in your project, of which you will discover later."

"I don't make mistakes." He said, realizing yet again as he did without fail that he was arguing with a disembodied program.

"Oh, and another thing sir."

"Yes, what is it Jarvis?"

"Captain Rogers is at the door. Shall I let him in?"

Tony hesitated at his work: the first hesitation he had shown since he began this project upon returning home from the party last night. But the vacillation was short, and he went about his work as before. "Ignore him. I'm not in."

Tony expected the whole dilemma to come to an abrupt end.

It did not.

Within minutes Jarvis had come back to him, saying: "I've let Captain Rogers through, sir. I know this is most unorthodox, but..."

"You disobeyed me, Jarvis. I didn't create you just so that you could run the show!" He thought of throwing a spanner at the speaker in the ceiling, and then went against the idea, knowing how pointless the act would be.

"He wrote a note, sir, explaining the situation."

"He did? Secret messages again? How old are you Jarvis? On second thoughts, don't answer that question."

Tony could not help but groan. It was not the excuse he was willing to hear. Before he could reprimand Jarvis any further, Steve Rogers come to stand in the parlour doorway, looking as unprepared for this encounter as he was.

"Hi, Tony." He said in a friendly way that somehow bothered Tony. But it was his eyes that said more than his mouth did. He was looking at the mess in the room, and at Tony himself, who, in the space of his own privacy, had just decided to wear black pants and a tank top. He sweated when he worked, and wanted to wear something appropriate. However, the clothing did very little to conceal the bones on display.

"Yes, Steve. Most convenient of you to come." He drawled, helplessly leaning on his sarcasm. "Is there an emergency or do you just like to surprise me?"

Steve decided to cut the bullshit. Neither of them enjoyed small talk, even at the best of times. "You lied to me." Tony frowned, confused. As far as he was concerned, he had practically lied all night.

He still knelt by his littered equipment, and hadn't yet stood. His cane rested up against the table, ready and waiting for his hand.

"I rang Pepper up last night." Steve continued.

"Yeah?"

"She never fell in the shower and she certainly never hurt her foot."

Tony was sure he had missed something. "So?" He said, ignoring the fierceness of Steve's expression. Though, he was beginning to feel no different from a child who had just got into trouble with the headmaster. It made him feel sick with rage, but he wasn't intending to show it just yet. He wanted to know where this was going first, so he could justify his anger later.

"Why'd you lie? Was it because you couldn't stand being my guest?" Steve didn't look all that annoyed: just disgruntled as if he had just caught his finger in the door.

Tony awkwardly rose to his feet: the occasion called for it, and he reached for his cane, which he held delicately, planting its base between his shoes. He felt he didn't have to give an explanation. Steve wasn't his boss. But he had walked out on his best friend's party.

"I liked your party." He said, "It was flamboyant, busy. Loud. I just had other things going on. Yes, I lied about Pepper. I didn't want to upset you."

Steve knew he was evading the question: the real reason he had absconded. But he couldn't really stay mad. As he surveyed the place, he became more attuned to the state of Tony's health. For a start, this room was a mess. There were untidy piles of documents and files along the back walls, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuses and what could only be cigarette smoke. He never remembered Tony smoking, so he wasn't so sure.

Nearly all the windows were curtained off, making the room appear dingy and dark, despite the fluorescent lighting. There were packets of cough medicine and tools on the table, and empty coffee mugs. If Pepper had seen this, she would have thrown a fit. As for Tony himself, he stood propped up against his cane, looking very skeletal. His arms were lines of hard bone, and Steve could see the top of his ribcage above the V-neckline of his tank top. Even his collarbone jutted forwards, creating its own shadow against his white skin. His hair was tangled and sticking up in angles and there were heavy lines of grey that the Captain had not noticed before.

At least his arc reactor, hardly ever overlooked, shone bright through the thin skin of his tank top. It was always comforting to see the arc reactor glowing defiantly.

"What's the real reason you're here?" Tony finally said, feeling invaded and ultimately, judged. He had worked hard to hide his evident health, and now Steve had gone and destroyed it all. There was no more hiding now. He could only curse Jarvis, and wonder at the trick Steve had pulled to get in. He had never imagined that a simple written note could thwart security. Jarvis would get an earful later.

The feel of the air seemed tense as if the room was slowly filling up with poison gas. Tony tried to remain poker faced as usual, when his phone vibrated in his pocket, giving him a start. His phone was always bleating: like a tamagotchi wanting to be fed. He ignored it.

He was ashamed at himself for spooking at such a mundane thing.

At last he could take Steve's scrutiny no longer. "So what are you here for? A picnic?"

"I came to check up on you. Everything good?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be? Worried I might be spawning monsters? Don't worry I left them under my bed. They're only menacing at night."

Steve did not sound impressed or in a particularly good mood. "Heard from Fury lately?"

"No. What, does he want a catalogue of all my recent endeavours?"

"There's no need for alarm, Tony."

"I am not alarmed!" He said, trying to sound indifferent. Instead he just came off sounding pissed about it.

"You never call headquarters."

"Yeah, because you all act like teachers. And I'm the naughty child."

"Tony..."

"No, no it's okay. I get it. I'm the smallest, and the loudest. It's fine."

Steve drew in a heavy breath. The time to tell him that the Avengers had ultimately evicted him fell to the Captain, and he knew this. Fury may call the shots, and finance them, remind them what's at stake should they falter, but Rogers was the team's leader. It was his duty to evaluate and therefore judge the team's capabilities.

However, telling Tony now seemed poorly timed. In fact, any day was probably going to be just as hard. And putting it off only made it even harder.

But, looking at Tony now made the decision come to some fruition at last. The physical state he was in was enough to make it easier on Steve, at least in terms of professionalism. After all he couldn't hold it in much longer, and he was going to be a man about it. Tony would take it hard at first, but in the long run, Steve hoped he would eventually come to accept it, and maybe even prefer it.

"Look, Tony, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about..."

"Yeah, and what's that? I'm pretty sure that leaving parties early isn't a felony. And I did happen to buy you a luxurious gift." Tony defended, sure it would earn him another rebuke. As a matter of fact Steve had rather liked the present, though he had no idea at the time what to make of it. It was a robotic Alsatian with _Stark Industries_ written down its left hind leg. _'One of a kind, love Tony'_ was the only message in the box that came with the dog. As of yet Steve had not turned the robot on, afraid of what the gift would mean, and he had left it, sitting still inside the partly opened box in the foyer.

As much as he wanted to discuss the strange gift, he could not make Tony distract him yet again from the heart of the matter. "It's about your role as an Avenger. We're cutting you from the team." His chest broke through the cage holding it tight and he could breathe. There, he had said it.


End file.
